


bedroom hymns

by fanfictionandcats



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Storybrooke, emotionally loaded sex, like everyone's normal and the whole fairytale thing is sorta irrelevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictionandcats/pseuds/fanfictionandcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows it isn’t healthy. She knows Mulan thinks she is stupid for doing it. And maybe she is. </p><p>But she can’t stop.</p><p>It happened sometime almost every week. One of them would text the other and then bam, they’d fall into bed together and his hands and mouth would be all over her and she’d love it. It was rough and demanding and she felt it in her entire body, and he filled her up from her head to her toes. </p><p>He would fuck her and she would scream until she couldn’t anymore, and she’d see stars and forget her name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bedroom hymns

**Author's Note:**

> angsty, but i guess there's a happy ending so yeah. i'm not really sure where this came from.
> 
> and this is AU where the whole fairytale aspect of the show is sort of irrelevant and not really mentioned. so storybrooke, but if storybrooke was actually just a regular town.

_Previously on Grey’s Anatomy -_

 

Aurora’s phone buzzes on the coffee table. Mulan leans forward and tosses it to her blindly, eyes still fixed on the TV.

 

**come over**

 

She stares down at the text blankly, red-painted nails running over the fraying edges of her phone case. And then she replies.

 

**Okay.**

 

Walking around the back of the couch, she grabs her coat off the hook near the door.

 

“I’m just going to take a walk, I’ll be - “

 

“At Hook’s.” Mulan cuts her off, with a resigned, disapproving tone. “Yeah, see you.”

 

She bites the inside of her cheek, but leaves and pulles the door closed quickly behind her.

 

As she walks down the deserted streets toward his apartment, she buries her hands deeper into her coat pockets and tries not to think too hard about where she is going. And why.

 

She knows it isn’t healthy. She knows Mulan thinks she is stupid for doing it. And maybe she is.

 

But she can’t stop.

 

It happened sometime almost every week. One of them would text the other and then _bam_ , they’d fall into bed together and his hands and mouth would be all over her and she’d _love it_. He could make her come harder than anyone else (and always made sure she had before he did). And he was intense. It was rough and demanding and she felt it in her entire body, and he filled her up from her head to her toes.

 

He would fuck her and she would scream until she couldn’t anymore, and she’d see stars and forget her name.

 

But after that, it was cold. Awkward. Neither of them ever stayed the night. Once she used his shower (he’d come all over her chest) and had to walk home with still-wet hair.

 

And maybe she doesn’t want that. Maybe she wants breakfast.

 

But that never seemed to be on the table. He is private, she hardly knew anything about him (except that he had a horrible reputation and had somehow slighted or fucked over almost everyone in town). She knows he has some job down by the docks. What he actually did, she wasn’t sure.

 

But she saw him playing fetch with a stray dog once. She was walking to the grocery store and decided to take a different walk, down by the water, and spotted him in the small patch of greenery outside the warehouse on the waterfront.

 

She’d never admit it, but she watched him for almost twenty minutes. It felt a little like an invasion of privacy, seeing as how they didn’t interact, much less even see each other outside of their apartments. But he was outside, and she was just… curious.

 

Laughing, scratching the dog behind the ears, he looked… sweet. So different from the man who would bend her over and fuck her raw. She wanted to join him. She wondered if she could make him laugh.

 

He didn’t speak to her much at all in “the after”. Still, everytime he asked her to come over, she did. She kept going back.

 

Because it was him, with his hungry lips, silky black hair, toned chest, with a trail of finer dark hair leading down his stomach. He’d laugh smugly when she moaned and hold her hips so tight, moving her back and forth, callused and coarse, and the way he’d whisper swears and dirty words into the crook of her neck, and then right before she would come, he’d call her _love_ and bite against her collarbone.

 

And he had tattoos. On his forearms, behind his ear, the back of his neck, his ankle. Snakes, skulls, intricate patterns she had no idea the meaning. She'd trace all of them with her tongue. She wants to know what they mean.

 

She rings the bell and gets buzzed up immediately. She just barely reaches the top of the stairs when his door opens and he pulls her inside.

 

“Hi.” She tries to say, but he cuts her off with his lips.

 

He kisses her eagerly, pushing the shoulders of her coat down. She hears it drop on the floor a moment later.

 

She’s just wearing a blouse and jeans. She supposed she should have worn a dress, something easier to take off. But he doesn’t seem to mind, fitting his hands into the back pockets and squeezing her ass possessively.

 

He licks into her mouth, tongue hot and she feels stubble scratch her chin. She rests her hands on his chest, letting them slide down towards his belly button. He’s wearing a black henley, fabric stretched over his broad shoulders so they look like they could pop out and rip the shirt any second.

 

He smells smoky, like whiskey, and a little like saltwater, and that thing she can’t describe. It makes her want to rub herself all over him.

 

God, she’s pathetic.

 

He pulls her closer into his body and she feels him hard against her hip. She thinks (hopes) he was thinking about her before she arrived, waiting for her, needing her. It makes heat pool low in her stomach, and she kisses him harder, saying, _fuck me_.

 

He drags his lips off hers and down her cheek to her jaw, leaving a trail of kisses. He brushes her hair out of the way and sucks at the skin behind her ear. She feels her nails dig into his sides, and she sighs breathily. He sucks harder and she gulps back a moan.

 

He moves to the hollow of her throat and then across her collarbone, his hands moving lower until they rest between her legs, and he starts to rub her through her jeans. He laps at her skin, like he’s trying to devour her, shoving down the neck of her shirt to get at more skin.

 

After a moment, she just pulls it off, and he murmurs in appreciation. She’s wearing semi-matching pink lacy bra and panties (ok, maybe they don’t match. But they’re the same color! It counts!), and he seems to really like that.

 

He drags his thumb over her nipple through her bra heavily, scratching a little at the lace. She pushes her chest at him, silently willing him to go harder. He does, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh, and this is why she’s here, because he seems to be the only person in the world who doesn’t baby her, or treat her like some tiny wilting flower.

 

He pulls her bra strap down with his teeth, mouthing at the skin right above the fabric. He’s teasing her.

 

She doesn’t know why, but it makes her angry. She can feel herself shaking a little, becoming putty in his hands. And she wants to be in control.

 

Her hands land on the waistband of his sweatpants and shoves them down. He isn’t wearing boxers, which she isn’t sure means anything or not.

 

She gets down on her knees and he steps out of his pants and kicks them to the side. She strokes him a couple times, but he’s already hard, so she closes her lips around him and slides her mouth up as far as she can go.

 

She sucks him, and he swears. He sinks into her mouth, holding onto her shoulder. She pulls off for a second, circling her lips around the head, her tongue darting out and licking up his length, before taking him into her mouth again. She works him up and down, taking a second to lick the vein on the underside of his shaft (because he makes _that_ _noise_ ).

 

She wishes he’d open his eyes, look at her, _see_  her.

 

He growls somewhere in the back of his throat, and a wave of pleasure washes over her.

 

It’s not that she particularly likes the act itself, but it’s the fact that _she’s_ the one making him make those sounds, making him tighten his jaw, _growl_.

 

But he never lets her do it for very long.

 

“Stop, love, I’m gonna come.”

 

He pulls her back up to his mouth, grabbing hold of her hips and walking her backwards with him.

 

The back of her knees hit the foot of the bed and they fall together. His hand jumps to hold her lower back as he guides her head to the pillows, climbing up after her.

 

He unbuttons her jeans, shifting them down her legs. They get stuck around one of her feet, but he just rips them the rest of the way off and tosses them somewhere behind him. He yanks off his shirt (finally) with one hand and then slides a hand up her calf.

 

There’s probably a very obvious wet spot in the center of her panties.

 

He’s naked, but she’s still got her underwear on. She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra clumsily. That makes him abandon his slow journey up her legs for lavishing the skin between her breasts, and trailing his tongue over to her left nipple.

 

He drags his teeth over it, which makes her arch up into him, a moan escaping her lips as he touches the other breast with his right hand.

 

Then he kisses down her stomach, both her hips, and then flicks his tongue against her clit.

 

It makes her thighs tense up, and she opens up her legs for him unabashedly. He licks up her opening, and then sucks at her clit relentlessly, making her push up into his mouth. _Fuck_ , his _mouth_.

 

And she runs a hand through his hair, curling her fingers around the back of his head. He fucks her with his tongue like he can’t get enough of her. She fights the urge to wrap her thighs around his head and just keep him there forever - because _wow_.

 

“So fucking delicious.” His hot breath washes over her and her hips jerk impatiently, her grip flexing around his hair. He smirks, bringing his lips back up to hers. She can’t help grinding against his thigh desperately.

 

Suddenly, he pushes off her and she’s devastated at the absense of his heat.

 

But then he’s back on top of her, leaning on his elbows with something shiny in his right hand. He rips open the condom wrapper with his teeth, sliding it on and settling back between her legs. She crosses them over his back as he gets situated.

 

He pushes into her slowly, like always, with a strangled sigh.

 

One hand grips the headboard and another settles on her waist, he sets a punishing pace. She rolls her hips to meet his and he grunts, and she can almost feel it reverberate in her chest.

 

And his hips snap and it burns a little, him holding her hard in place as he strokes slow for a second and then speeds up.

 

Her heart’s beating in her ears.

 

Maybe she’s lonely, maybe she doesn’t even know him as well as she pretends she does, but there’s something about him. It’s so addicting, the heat and the quick traded words.

 

“Killian.”

 

It slips out of her mouth in a quiet confession.

 

And he freezes. They never use names.

 

He misses a beat in their rhythm but picks it up quickly.

 

She bites her lip and tries to think clearly, but she just fucking can’t, because it’s him, it’s him, he’s like drugs and alcohol and driving too fast on an empty highway, everything she’s wanted since high school but always avoided and always sheltered and pulled away from.

 

But he could also be caring. For her. They could be something. Couldn’t they?

 

“ _Killian._ ”

 

He comes with a shout, thrusts once more, and then pulls out and rolls away from her.

 

She almost chokes, shocked at the abrupt ending.

 

They don’t touch anymore. The only sound in the silent room are their heavy breathing.

 

Tears prickle behind her eyes and she sits up, hugging her knees. Naked and cold.

 

He _always_ makes sure she’s come before he does.

 

She peeks back at him over her shoulder. He’s laying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. She knows he can feel her watching him, but he doesn’t meet her eye.

 

He looks annoyed.

 

She blinks, and a few tears fall down her cheeks. She can feel a gnawing in the pit of her stomach screaming _get out_ and _he doesn’t want you here anymore._

 

But then anger starts to bubble up in her chest. _He_ called her here.

 

She slaps his calf to get his attention. When he reacts, she rises up on all fours and looks back at him.

 

“What are you doing?” He asks flatly, leaning up on his forearms.

 

“This is what you want, isn’t it?!” She yells, and startles herself at how loud her voice is after so many whispered swears and moans. But she continues, letting the tangy hate build up deep in her chest. “You can fuck me _this_ way, then you don’t have to look in my eyes. You don’t even have to remember it’s _me_.”

 

A rational part of her tells her that she’s acting crazy, that she never actually told him that she wanted anything different than the agreement they seem to have made. But a larger part is angry and hurt and a little embarrassed.

 

He sits up, running a hand through his hair (his _stupid_ hair). “What are you talking about?”

 

She studies his face, so guarded, so blank. She’s tired of it. They stare back at each other, until she breaks the gaze and glances up to the ceiling, trying to angle the tears back into her eyes.

 

“I don’t know.” She blurts out. Suddenly, she needs to _leave_. She jumps off the bed, picking her jeans up from the floor and pulling them on, bypassing underwear. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I keep coming back here when it makes me feel so shitty.”

 

He’s silent until she’s managed to locate her shirt, and she’s standing next to his bed, fully clothed while he’s still naked. His hair is mussed up and sticking out every which way, and there’s a scratch across his shoulder, running down to his back (from her nails).

 

For a second, she wishes she could climb back in bed with him. She’d fit into the curve of his chest, pull his arm around her and kiss his fingers until they fell asleep.

 

“If you don’t want to be here, the door’s right there.”

 

She feels like she’s going to throw up, and the tears start flowing again.

 

“Fuck. You.” She stalks away from him. She snatches her coat up off the floor where he’d taken it off her, and threw open the tiny apartment door.

 

She runs down the stairs, almost missing a couple in her haste to leave. Sobs start to wrack her body and her hands are shaking. Why does she have to care so much? About _him?_

 

She didn’t care. She would force herself not to. He wasn’t that great. He was some criminal, a lowlife that probably got high and smashed mailboxes for fun. Immature.

 

She would move on. She would meet someone else, someone kind, someone sweet and soft, like the person she’d lost years before. And he would tell her everyday how beautiful she was, treat her like a princess.

 

For some reason, that didn’t sound nearly as appealing as it had a few months ago.

 

“Aurora!” A voice calls after her.

 

She stops mid-step, catching her breath. Inside her pockets, her hands ball up into fists. She turns around slowly, biting back a sob that is still stuck in her throat.

 

He stands a few feet away from her, shifting from foot to foot, shivering in only a pair of sweatpants.

 

“I’m sorry I’m such a prick.” He states. “And I’m sorry that I made you feel anything less than all you are.”

 

“I can’t keep doing this.” She says, hating the way her voice quivers. “I thought I could do this sort of casual thing, but - but I can’t.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be casual.” He mutters, and she bites the inside of her cheek. He looks down at the sidewalk, hands rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“It’s… it’s been a long time since I felt something for anyone.” He confesses.

 

Images of Phillip flash across her mind’s eye for a moment as she replies, “Me too.”

 

They stare at each other for a moment.

 

“I didn’t think you’d want to be with a guy like me.”

 

“And what are you?”

 

“A _bad_ guy.” He coughs, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’ve done a lot of shit I’m not proud of. Everything I’ve got I’ve either scammed or stolen. And you, you’re… You’re this princess. And I don’t deserve you.”

 

A lump rises in her throat, and she moves towards him. He’s looking at her, and he looks so… hopeful.

 

“I don’t care.” She says. “I don’t want to be a princess. I want you.”

 

And they smash their lips together, but this time it’s different - it’s not just sex and attraction and excitement. He wraps his hands around her lower back pulling him flush against him, it’s the beginning of something. It’s possession, like he’s been waiting for this, like _he’s wanted it too_.

 

When they finally finally pull away, they both start laughing. She glances down at his feet and snorts.

 

“Oh my god, you’re barefoot.”

 

“I didn’t want you to leave.” He says simply. “But, honestly, I think they’re numb.”

 

Before she can respond, he follows with, “Stay the night with me. I… I want to apologize.”

 

He reaches out to hold her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles like something precious. She feels the corners of her mouth perk up, butterflies back in her stomach in the most beautiful way.

 

“Alright.”

 

And he does. With his lips and his hands, but also with words and promises and she believes him. She plays with his fingers as she watches him fall asleep, his mouth softly falling open and she laughs because of course, he snores daintily like a little kitten. She burrows into his chest and closes her eyes with the prospect of something new.

 

And in the morning when she wakes up, there’s a plate of burnt toast and eggs with a single piece of what looks like bacon sitting next to her head and a very sexy naked man smiling back at her from the doorway.

 


End file.
